


Five Abstract Concepts K-2SO Comprehends Perfectly Well, Thank You, Cassian Andor

by incognitajones



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: 5 Things, Artificial Intelligence, Canon Compliant, Droids, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-24 20:19:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10749075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incognitajones/pseuds/incognitajones
Summary: Duty, honour, and other abstract concepts Cassian Andor has to explain to this droid he's saddled himself with.





	Five Abstract Concepts K-2SO Comprehends Perfectly Well, Thank You, Cassian Andor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [primeideal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/gifts).



> Dear primeideal, your prompt was delightful, and so well-phrased that it made a perfect summary (bonus!). I thoroughly enjoyed writing for you! Happy May the 4th, and I hope you enjoy this gift.

**1\. humour**

Melshi walked away down the shuttle ramp, roaring with laughter. 

K-2SO straightened up, tilting his head and holding his spindly arms akimbo like an offended protocol droid. “He insulted you.”

“That was a joke, Kaytoo. I don’t think you got it.”

Apparently the knowledge base for Imperial security droids was deep but not broad. K-2 had terabytes of data on intrusion countermeasures, but his general information files were skimpy, and in the weeks since Cassian had reprogrammed him, his curiosity had been relentless and exhausting. Cassian had finally given the droid his code to access the educational and entertainment folders of the Alliance’s public holonet. Draven had had a fit, but Cassian didn’t see how watching Old Republic historical dramas or lectures from the University of Coruscant would corrupt K-2. He’d just told the droid to keep in mind that these were often partial or inaccurate, and to ask Cassian about anything he found confusing. In theory, this should have taken the burden of answering questions off Cassian and made him feel a bit less like a babysitter constantly shadowed by a curious little kid. In practice, it meant answering fewer basic questions but many, many more complex ones.

K-2 made the buzzing noise Cassian had learned to associate with the droid’s displeasure. “I comprehend humour perfectly well. It’s a simplistic mechanism to reduce psychological tension in sentient beings that relies on the juxtaposition of incongruent concepts, often including bizarre physical injury or crude sexual commentary.”

“Yeah, sounds like you have a pretty good grasp.” Cassian wondered how many hours of terrible comedies the droid had watched in order to extract that definition. He still wasn’t going to explain the gist of Melshi’s ‘yo mama’ joke to K-2.

“I fail to see any strategic purpose for it, however.” 

“It relaxes people,” Cassian pointed out. “Subconsciously, we tend to trust someone who’s made us laugh.” He’d lost count of the times he’d told an awful joke to get an nervous informant or Imperial officer to loosen up.

“I have no need to relax.” The droid still sounded offended. “But in that case, you should participate in humorous wordplay more often. You don’t engage in any other means of relieving tension.”

K-2 craned his head down and the dark shutters in his optical sensors clicked as he focused on Cassian. “You don’t consume depressants, narcotics, or stimulants other than caf. You don’t engage in sexual activity, at least with a partner—”

“All right!” Cassian jumped up from the pilot’s seat. He was done with this conversation, and speaking of caf, he desperately needed another cup right now. “You’re not a med droid, Kay. I’m fine.” 

“That was a joke, Cassian,” K-2 said. “Did you not get it?”

 

**2\. duty, bravery**

Cassian was staring fixedly at the weapon on his lap, although K-2SO could not perceive anything unusual about it; it was his standard BlasTech A280 model. He had also wiped his eyes surreptitiously when he heard K-2 enter the cockpit. Inference suggested it was due to the human habit of producing excess tears when experiencing strong emotion.

Less than a second of processing time generated hundreds of possible responses, but K-2 didn’t have enough data to ascertain what feedback would be the most preferable to Cassian or the best way to relieve his depression. He was not certain of what to do, which he found unusual and very unsatisfactory. 

Perhaps it was associated with K-2 knowing what Cassian had done. Sentients had an inconvenient amount of the feeling they called “pride”, and Cassian more than most. “I could wipe my memory,” he offered. “If you require that in order to continue to serve.”

“No,” Cassian said, so quietly that even K-2’s keen auditory sensors had trouble picking up his voice. “Forgetting won’t make it right, or just. It was the coward’s way out.”

That was empirically untrue. Bravery meant engaging in a dangerous pursuit even when objective analysis indicated serious risk of injury or death. Cassian did that almost every day, and K-2 pointed this out to him.

“Wrong. Most of what I do isn’t brave.” Cassian’s shoulders moved downward 14 degrees and his head drooped slightly, indicating shame.

K-2 had many objective counter-examples. “Consider the time you continued your mission in the Yorn Skot gas mines even though you suspected your cover had been compromised. Or when you extracted Lieutenant—”

“Enough, Kay,” Cassian cut him off. “I do what I do because it’s necessary. Someone has to do it for the Rebellion, and it’s best if that duty falls to me.”

“Why?”

It was a simple enough question and yet it seemed to freeze Cassian’s mental processing. He didn’t answer. In fact, he said nothing for eleven seconds. K-2 repeated the question in case Cassian had not heard, although that seemed improbable.

Cassian rubbed his hands over his face, an evasive (if futile) gesture of concealment. “Because I can handle it.”

Which led them back to the start of this dialogue, when Cassian was clearly unable to “handle it”, whatever that meant or what “it” was. Their circular reasoning was one of the least tolerable things about organic sentients. K-2 could not sigh, but his vocabulator produced a roughly similar noise which he employed now. “Really? Duty is not a concept that enhances self-preservation, in my observation." 

And he had a large corpus of observation to base that deduction on. Cassian generally refused to acknowledge any of his physical needs, including sleep, nutrition, and medical treatment. K-2 had rarely encountered a being with so much contempt for the requirements of its own organism. He had realized some time ago that Cassian might have been better suited to existence as a droid. 

"Some things are more important than self-preservation, Kay. Even your earlier programming recognized that. The difference is now you can choose what to place a higher priority on." Cassian looked up at him, and K-2 was somewhat relieved; at least he seemed more engaged in the conversation now, less focused on his own perceived shortcomings. "Do you feel a sense of duty toward the Alliance?"

K-2 calculated that this was an important question. An incorrect answer would disappoint Cassian, which K-2 had discovered he did not like to do. More importantly, it would make Cassian place less trust in him. For what they did, it was essential that Cassian be willing to rely on K-2 as a partner. 

Unfortunately, calculating the answer most likely to reassure Cassian was not as simple. Protesting too much attachment to the Alliance would not be convincing. "I appreciate that the Alliance—in the form of you, personally—was the source of my ability to choose otherwise." K-2 chose his words carefully. "And I have come to value some of its individual members for their skills." 

Mon Mothma had a fine analytical mind, for example, though she let sentiment sway her regrettably often. K-2 approved of General Draven, for the most part; he had a solid grasp of strategy and his single-minded pursuit of a stated goal was admirable. On the other hand, Draven's orders often led to emotional distress for Cassian, since their ethical systems were not perfectly aligned. For that, K-2 was less inclined to give him credit. Surely an effective tactical leader would not continue to ask more of a tool than it could give without breaking. But Cassian always reminded him that the Alliance's resources were limited. Perhaps Draven had no choice but to push his assets past their tolerance.

"I find that I much prefer existence within the Rebel Alliance. I extrapolate from that to assume many other sentient beings would feel the same, if they had a choice."

Cassian shrugged. "Maybe not. People are willing to overlook a lot for the sake of safety, or what they think is safety."

"I would forward the goals of the Alliance, even if I could only do so by my own destruction," K-2 said truthfully. "Each time we undertake a mission, I know that the parameters of success may demand it."

"That's all the Rebellion can ask of anyone." Cassian sounded slightly less despondent. K-2 posited that their exchange had at least distracted him from the underlying issue, even if it had resolved nothing. “You’re a good partner, Kay.” He holstered his blaster at last and turned toward the shuttle console, reaching up to hit the pre-flight sequence. 

K-2 took his place in the co-pilot’s seat. He did not add that he would prioritize Cassian's survival higher that his own in almost every case. That was not information which Cassian would appreciate.

 

**3\. honour**

K-2’s strident vocalization cut through the low murmur of conversation in the briefing room. “Why does Mon Mothma insist on trying to persuade the Senate to adopt her point of view? It’s clearly futile.”

“Captain Andor.” The Chancellor didn’t raise her voice, but her tone was as obvious as a glowing holoprojection two metres high. If Cassian didn’t get K-2 out of here in the next few seconds, the droid was likely to become a source of spare parts.

He tapped K-2’s shoulder plate. “Come on, Kay, time to go. We need your help loading cargo for the run to Wobani.”

“No, you don’t,” K-2 said, but followed him out of the room without further political commentary. 

Cassian headed toward the hangar, K-2 keeping pace with his long-legged stalk. “You made me leave before the Chancellor could answer my question,” he complained peevishly.

There wasn’t much point in trying to make K-2 understand he wouldn’t have gotten an answer. “Mon Mothma is an honourable woman. Even if it’s not likely to work, she’ll keep trying to sway the Senate for as long as she can.” Which might not be that much longer, if the rumours were true. Palpatine was probably reaching the limit of his tolerance for even toothless political opposition.

Somehow, K-2 had learned to use his vocabulator to make a skeptical noise. “Does she want honour, or a favourable outcome?”

“Not every victory is worth the price. If the Alliance won by adopting all of the Empire’s tactics, we’d only be replacing their tyranny with our own.”

It wasn’t that simple, of course. Cassian had seen and done things as dark and bloody as any Imperial atrocity. But it was different (he told himself) when one agent not sanctioned by High Command was doing it, rather than officers under formal orders.

And then a shitshow like Kafrene happened, and his tissue-thin veil of justification could barely hide the ugliness underneath. 

K-2 was silent for an unusually long time, given the droid’s habit of running off at the mouth. “Honour remains a non-optimal criterion for strategic analysis. The concept is too elastic.”

Wasn’t that the truth. Cassian sighed and rubbed his forehead, wondering how much longer the façade of honour could stand without anything to support it.

 

**4\. faith**

Now that they were in hyperspace, K-2 had nothing more to do until they reached Scarif. Even then, the Imperial defector Bodhi Rook would handle the final descent. 

He scanned the crowded cockpit and cargo hold. Almost every person present appeared to be engaged in some kind of good luck ritual. Rook was fingering the strap of his goggles, unbuckling and rebuckling it over and over. Baze Malbus was checking the sight on his gun, which he had last checked three point seven minutes ago. Melshi ran his fingers over the patches sewn to his combat fatigues; K-2 conjectured that he was reviewing previous mission successes and failures in his memory. Jyn Erso had pulled out a gem hanging from a thong around her neck—interesting; it had the characteristic internal structure of a rare kyber crystal—and was gazing at it, her eyes unfocused and far away. Chirrut Imwe was chanting his Force mantra in a low murmur. 

Cassian was the only one without a superstition to occupy him. He was leaning against the bulkhead in his habitual pose, arms crossed, watchful.

"What do droids believe in?" K-2 tilted his head down to observe that Chirrut Imwe was directing his blind eyes toward him.

"I don't know what droids believe. _I_ believe this is a suicide mission with less than a twenty-three percent chance of—"

"We know, Kaytoo," Cassian interrupted. "You've already given me your analysis, thanks. At this point further debate is... counterproductive."

Chirrut only smiled. "I meant to ask whether Kaytoo believes in the Force—or any other spiritual power. It would be interesting to know whether droids have faith."

"If you refer to a belief in unknown spiritual forces guiding events, I don't have faith." K-2 didn’t understand how any being with a capacity for logical thought could. "An unverifiable hypothesis is, by definition, not useful."

"Who knew the droid could make so much sense?" Baze Malbus didn't look up from his weapon, but his gruff voice carried.

K-2 was pleased, but felt the need to point out, "I always make sense. It’s the rest of you who rarely do."

"There are many powers that cannot be seen or sensed," Chirrut said. "Gravity. Electromagnetism. Quarks, or—"

"But there's proof of those." Surprisingly, Jyn Erso entered the conversation. "They affect things around them, and those effects can be perceived and tested."

"The Force influences everything as well," Chirrut said. "Although its effects may not be as easily proven. If you think that the Force did not have an impact on the manner of our meeting, Jyn, you would be wrong."

Baze snorted. "Your never-ending need to talk is what caused that meeting. If you hadn't opened your mouth and said something about her crystal, the two of you would never have met."

“Oh, I doubt that,” Chirrut said serenely. “But it would have been a loss. I am happy to have faith in the Force when it leads me to such companions.” He reached out and placed a hand on Jyn’s forearm. A microexpression K-2 could not read flickered across her face; he couldn’t tell if she were going to smile or cry.

 

**5\. imagination**

K-2SO understood the function of imagination as a psychological tool for sentient beings. Imagination made their limited options palatable; it allowed them to convince themselves that there was meaning to their brief lives, through such abstract emotional concepts as duty, honour, or love. 

K-2 saw it for what it was: a poor adaptive technique that promoted a lack of engagement with facts as they were. He had always been satisfied that his greater processing power allowed him to rely on scenarios and simulations with quantitative data to back them up, rather than mere emotional preferences.

Yet now, milliseconds from the endpoint of his consciousness, K-2 found that for once he wanted to reach past probabilities and ignore facts. He wished to project a convincing scenario in which Cassian survived beyond the next twenty minutes or so. It would require a sequence of events at the vanishingly small border of probability—Cassian not having sustained any immediately fatal injuries in the climb to the tower; his discovery of another craft to pilot away from the chaotic field of battle—but it was, theoretically, barely possible. 

Because the company of the mutineers he had met in the course of this operation seemed to satisfy Cassian, even when he clashed with them, K-2 expanded the parameters of his simulation to include the survival of some of them as well. It added no more than another point to the already nearly incalculable odds, and he reasoned that they might be useful partners if Cassian required aid. 

Therefore, the last millisecond of K-2's processing power was devoted to generating an image of Cassian and his companions landing on Yavin 4, battered and bleeding, but alive. When the last circuit in his neural chip blew, that picture was the final imprint on his motherboard at the time of deactivation.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Somaybelikeno and TehanuFromEarthsea for lightning-fast beta skills, and to englishable for her encouragement!
> 
> Segments 2 and 5 are extrapolated from material in the _Rogue One_ novel by Alexander Freed (which is a definite cut above most movie novelizations).


End file.
